


If You're Going, I'm Going

by NotJasonTodd



Category: Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 18:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17330000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotJasonTodd/pseuds/NotJasonTodd
Summary: This was a headcanon from Tumblr by umbubyingotham. Dick quit the team and left Kaldur in place because he was planning on going home and killing himself. Beware, major character death and incredible amounts of feels. You have been warned





	If You're Going, I'm Going

Author's Note:

I'm sorry in advance for even posting this. And I cried writing this, so fair warning, it is really freaking sad. Please review and favorite, it will cheer me up :)

The guilt was too much. It really was. That was why he quit. That was why he was about to do what he was about to do. He had pushed Artemis to coming out of retirement and he had pushed Wally to come back and help.

He thought it was his fault. He thought that everything would be fine and that no one would get hurt.

The words kept echoing in his head. The whole fight he had with Wally about Artemis. Every little thing he had ever said was bouncing in Dick's mind. He couldn't focus on anything anymore.

He thought about their friendship and how close they were. He had known Wally forever, he had known everything about him. He was his best friend. He was practically his brother. And now he had gotten him killed.

He had known what he was going to do since Wally had died. He knew that too much blood was on his hands as it was with Jason. He couldn't take another death. He couldn't handle more.

He told Kaldur he was ready to leave the team. He had let everyone grieve and think about the future, but not him. He knew what he needed to do and he was at peace with it. He was ready.

So why was he sitting at his kitchen counter drinking himself under the table? He was scared and ashamed. Batman couldn't even look at him when he came back, he went straight to Kaldur. He couldn't look at himself much either though.

Jason had been under his care. He was Dick's brother and therefore Dick's responsibility. Dick had failed, letting his brother die. He was so young, his light extinguished before it even had a chance.

He took another bitter swallow of the tequila in his hand. He hadn't shed a tear. He didn't plan too. He took it all inside. But he took it too deep. He saw Artemis fall to her knees and he lurched inside. Her suffering was his fault. Everything was his fault.

Wally would still be alive if not for him. If he had stopped Wally from running, or said something, anything, he would still be alive now. He should have said something, told him not to go. He should have kept him safe.

That's all he was good at apparently, getting people killed.

First Jason and then Wally. He took another swig of the drink, eyes unblinking in front of him. He knew what he had to do. He was a terrible, despicable, human being. He got all of his friends killed. Now everyone was in mourning and he was about to take another life. He wasn't strong enough.

He pushed the chair back, getting up and leaving the bottle on the table. He hobbled to his closet where his costume and weapons were.

He stood in front of the doors, unable to open them. Everything Wally had ever and would ever say were buzzing around his head. If I go, you go they had always said.

Well now it was true. He couldn't live in a world without Wally, and he wouldn't try. He couldn't live in a world darker without his best friend. He opened the doors and pushed his Nightwing costume aside.

He looked at the costume for a moment. It was ironic. He pulled it off the shelf in a fit of anger. He threw it on the floor behind him and glared at it with hate.

It was his fault. It was all his fucking fault.

He rushed to the kitchen and grabbed the tequila bottle. He stumbled back into the bedroom, half tripping over his own feet.

He threw the half empty bottle with all his might at the cursed garment. The bottle shattered, soaking the costume with the alcohol. He cursed at himself and the costume on the floor.

He hobbled to the nightstand and grabbed a box of matches from the table. He held them in his hand, turning them over and over while looking down at his costume.

It was his fault. It was all his fault.

Bu now it would be better. He would go with Wally. He would follow as he always did. He bent down back into the closet for the one item no one knew he had.

Batman would kill him just for having it, no guns allowed in their family. But he had it just in case. This wasn't the first time he had contemplated suicide over something. Jason had hurt him, he had been scarred by what happened to Jason on his watch.

He sat against the wall and held the two items in his hands. The cool metal gun was so much heavier than the small cardboard box of matches. But they were both beautifully destructive.

"If you're going, I'm going." He let a tear fall on his cheek angrily. He pulled a match from the box and struck it eagerly. He tossed it on the costume with ease.

The flames licked the costume and spread on the floor to his bed. He watched the room engulf in the hot flames. He let another tear fall. He was ready.

He knew thousands of ways to kill people. Apparently though, he would die because he had killed his friend. He had killed Wally, his best friend.

He hiccupped, crying heavier now as the fire licked around him to the door. It circled him, there was no going back now.

He pushed the cool metal against his temple, staring at the flames. It was so fitting really. They were so Wally-ish. They were fast and red and hot. They would burn everything and leave everything dead.

He could feel them creeping closer as he cocked the gun, the feeling unfamiliar. This was it.

He took a deep breath, letting himself go. He was going to follow, it was what he had always promised.

He pulled the trigger.

He never saw his body slump to the floor. He never saw the blood pool beneath him. He never saw the flames lick him up like a pack of hungry hyenas. He never saw Barbra's face when she investigated the burnt apartment and found his charred remains fallen on the ground. He never saw the suffering he caused.

No, he never saw that.

He was already gone.


End file.
